


[Prequel] Beginnings: - Angelus Est Fletus -

by Maxeria_Shade



Series: the Collector’s Finesse [1]
Category: Original Work, the Collector’s Finesse
Genre: Gen, Original Characters - Freeform, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Religious Topics, Slight slow burn?, Slow Updates, the doctor and Zynph are the same character but theyre different forms, this is literal lore for playing cards
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:41:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maxeria_Shade/pseuds/Maxeria_Shade
Summary: Long ago, the mystery of the All Powerful, Omna, was preached and spread for centuries. This day, a Proctor in its faith did not expect to meet with two disasters at once. He will have to face his own inner Corruption, given to him by the deadly sin and vice grip of the Devil. He has to be sacrificed to be ‘purified.’ It is all but.[update: 11/9-20, will be going back to the original docs and rewriting each chapter]
Series: the Collector’s Finesse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1724212





	1. Weep

**Author's Note:**

> my first story, writing out lore of characters based off playing cards. critique is always welcome

‘Time started as it ticked, and it was with Him. Time continues flow, and was Him. And Time was there for him,’ Renzenoths, 20.78,” I said, looking onto the crowd here at the Ministry. “Time continues to flow until its very end, and as such we will live on to when the day the clock ceases its soft ticking, to when Death claims Time itself.” I continued to talk and preach, the crowd listening intently. They continued to listen until a soft, faint rumble shakes the building. No one is fazed. I still preach on and on, raising my arms and hands to gesture about how Time will kill us, how Death with guide us, and how a God upon high is no longer. I continued to breathe out these things when the building shook violently and fell, collapsing around me in a perfect halo. I raised my arms to the heavens, and it screeched a holy curse in my name and honor. I took a deep bow, and when I looked up, the place was empty. I looked behind me to see the altar, the same one that haunted me. What defiant force place a sacrificial altar in a Ministry? The madmen. I walked over to it, a voice, once quiet, now ringing and rattling my head. My gloved hands softly stroked the surface of the altar, my vision hazing slightly.

I do not remember passing out. A group of maidens, I assume nurses, looked at me quizzically. I noticed they stayed a good distance away from me, as if I was infected with a plague or curse. They laughed and giggled at each other and then one held a mirror in front of me. I understand completely why they stayed away...

“Another dream? Oh, dear, you’ll never get better,” a voice said next to me. The voice was soft as silk and as smooth as honey. It was a wife, my wife, Violet Monira. She softly caressed my cheek as I turned to faced her. “You’re having those nightmares again?” I nodded. “Oh, my dear honey flower. You will never get better.”

“My dear, it is truly hard to not sleep without having those dreams appearing. This was the first one in a while!”

“Is that so? Well then you can go back to sleep in the evening. And no afternoon naps.”

“There’s always a chill that goes down my spine every time I see that altar.” Violet just stared at me, withdrawing her hand. “I think the Devil is following you honey.” The statement knocked the air out of my body. Why would the Devil of all things interfere with me of all people? He is an omnipotent, omniscient, and an omnipresent being. But why me? What did I do to gain his interest? Was it that I preached and spread the word of Omna like wildfire or how a disease jumps from infected to an uninfected? I can see the throne where He sat, an arm propping up his skull-concealed face, a sneering smile jeering down at my very being, reminding me of my inferiority to Him, his legs crossed, right over left, with black streaks, old stories emblazoned on his pants, glistening faintly in the light. The skull over his head is mocking, mocking the sacrifices needed for the forgiveness of the High and Mighty himself. It resembled a ram’s skull with curling horns on each side, also seemingly resembling the same stories in his pants, but it is with the Holy Wars. He got up and walked towards me, letting me see how his outfit clung unto him. A coat flowing in a deep blood red, with deeper streaks of black, gold, blue and a near-black red, with the cuffs and collar flared with black and deep blue intricate designs around them, almost glowing. He offered his clawed hand to me as if saying, “join me.” His smile turned softer but it retained its sneering, dark undertone, as he’ll backstab you later and feast on your flesh.The eyes of his skull cast a deep shadow over his eyes but I swore I saw a glint of red behind that shadow.

“You do wish to preach the Words of Faith, no? I will give you that offer if you join me.... Angelica...”

I bolted and wiped my face with my hands, feeling the cold sweat dripping down and clinging the pajamas to my skin. I ran a hand through my bed-worn hair and contemplated over the sense of my dreams. First the dream about how the Oval Compact fell to my preaching, Violet next to me, and then seeing the Devil in his throne. Violet’s dead because of my preaching, word and rumor spreading that she went to suicide was my fault. I still wear our wedding ring, the only proof of us together, around my finger. I wonder if wearing this band is a curse in itself. What did I do to deserve this?

—————————————

“Is that all Angelica?” I asked, looking over to the frightened being in white and gold, a beautiful combination of colors.

“Yes,” a sigh, “it seems that the Devil still wants to haunt me.”

“How so?”

“Well... can you promise me something, Storica?” I nodded.

“He left a mark on me, and I believe three others.”

“What is the mark? I’ve heard the witch tales of the Devil leaving a mark on certain beings to claim them in some way.”

Angelica averted his face away from me, biting his lower lip. A moment or two passed before he got up and stripped out of his grand overcoat, leaving him in his dress shirt and clasped vest. He undid the first few buttons on the dress shirt and removed a small bit of the clasps on the vest. He opened the shirt and I gasped. I never thought the mark was real. I got up from my seat and walked over, undoing more of the buttons to get a better look. The mark is a sharp skull with a pair of greater horns curling outwards, with a smaller pair sharply curling inwards. It followed the rise and fall of Angelica’s breathing, as if it was imprinted on the skin itself. It is a cursed mark but it looks beautiful on his skin. I grazed my fingers over it, and Angelica flinched.

“It burns?”

“It lost its cursed touch, but yes, it still has that burning sensation when I touch it.” My gaze locked with the blindfold covering Angelica’s eyes. I felt sorry for what he went through. I walked back to my seat with Angelica buttoning his shirt, clasping his vest back, and somewhat lazily threw his great overcoat back on.

“Tell me how you got that mark, as well as how you achieved the Ascension.”

Angelica looked nervous but took a shaky breath and told me.

—————————————

I got up, boiled some water, collected my clothes, and made my way to the basin-like tub. I stripped out of my sweat stained pajamas and placed them, haphazardly, on the counter. I poured the bits of hot water over my sweat streaked back, neck and body. I curled my legs inwards with my chin on my knees, breathing deeply. I may or may not have dozed off in the tub but when I awoke it was a few minutes until my preaching. I muttered a curse under my breath as I quickly got dressed. A light purple dress shirt with a greyish vest on top, a simple white tailcoat, which gradients to a light grey at the extremities, grey pants which are neatly pressed, tucked inward at the hem, and dark grey dress shoes which walked miles and blocks from home to work. I tugged on a pair of silky white gloves, debating if I should wear them, and then to take them off, but I placed them in my breast pocket for later. I fixed some minor flaws I saw; fixing the loosely tied bow around the collar, brushing away any stray locks of hair, looking side to side for any other blemishes on my face. After a quick moment of looking for flaws, I grabbed a small prayer book and a praying rosary, which doubles as a necklace, from my nightside table. Right next to the items aforementioned, there was a locket in shape of a violet. I remember my wife giving it to me as a gift, with a beautiful portrait of her in it. I grabbed the locket and turned it over in my hand. There was a phrase engraved on the back of it, and it read, “We may pass violets looking for roses. We may pass contentment looking for victory.” I never knew what the phrase meant, but Violet did and she loved it. I smile faintly before putting on the locket, hiding it under my dress shirt, hanging above my beating heart. I then walked out the door, taking one look at the humble abode I resided in before closing it and locking it until dusk.

I approached the dome where members of the Ministry preach the word of Omna. It is a beautiful dome, almost taking some Romanian inspiration from their ancestors’ amphitheater. The preacher stood at the bottom, the walls amplifying the voice of the preacher, while the followers and listeners listen up on booths and semi-circular seats rising to the top. Higher Ministry leaders sit in a special booth overlooking the preacher and rank how he does. It was only on special occasions. The walls and roof was decorated with murals of how Omna and humans first came to contact, murals of how Life came to the universe, and on the back wall, a grandiose mural of Omna with a delicate hand reaching in front of her, wings spread out, with doves holding wreaths, lambs treading at her feet, and a halo so beautiful it will make the most stone cold cry. I walked in as people from the place came to listen to the Word. I skipped a step as I made my way down to the bottom of the dome. The pedestal holding the Holy Word is there, closed and ready to be opened to be preached. I took a few deep breaths and I walked to the pedestal, placing the prayer book and rosary next to the Word. “Good afternoon, gentlemen and women. We are all here today to hear the great and holy word of Omna, our Highest Lord. Instead of my normal preaching, I will do something a little different than what everyone here is used to.” I stepped to the side of the pedestal, cleared my throat, and broke into song. The crowd cringed at my off-key but my voice was quickly getting on key. I sang about the preaching planned today, the one where Time and Death were the same sides of a coin, as how we will pass but we truly die when we are forgotten. I sang well, raising my arms to let the crowd join in symphony with my voice. I heard a mix of happy high pitches, deep sorrowful sopranos, the rumbling bass tone of a tenor, and the off-key individuals who tried to find their pitch. The final part of the song was coming up, the sun rose high above and perfectly aligned with the stained glass mural above as it let out a beautiful halo of light where I stood.

“‘Time started as it ticked, and it was with Him. Time continues to flow, and so it was Him. And Time was there for him,’ as said in Rezenoths 20.78.”

I concluded the song with a grand holding of the “E” note, slowly shifting higher to a “G.” My arms were raised high to the heavens as the crowd of onlookers raised their arms and cried out, “All Bless Omna!” in a unison of keys and notes. I fell to my knees, crying out the same phrase and collected myself. I got up, walked to the pedestal and concluded the preaching with, “I hope you all enjoyed this little different thing I wanted to try out. I’ve wanted to show our High and Mighty how much we adore them. Thank you and that will be all for today.” The crowd gave a small applause and then collected themselves to go and leave. As I gathered my things, there was a woman there, of around 25 I assume. She wore a cream colored button up shirt, with a burgundy jacket flowing to her waist, grey pants, and with some shiny red shoes. She had a mark on her face, even though I have no idea what the mark is. “I cannot help but feel anew with your singing, Proctor. It was delightful hearing it.” I was surprised for someone to come to me and give me a compliment. Her voice sounded light, sugary and soft.

“T-thank you...”

“Yolanda”

“Thank you, Yolanda, for the compliment. It is rare for me to get one from the crowd. I do not recall seeing you in my past preaching, are you new?”

“Yes, I am. It is an amazing sight to see when someone sings about their Patron.”

“Patron?”

“That is how we say our High Lords where I come from.”

“And where are you from exactly, your kind of person is rare here.”

“Oh! I’m.. not allowed to say where I am from exactly, but I live on an island with my family. We come here to Menoria once in a while.”

“I see. Very well, I thank you for the compliment and I shall see you another day, if we meet.” I turned and left to the marketplace, I was hungry after my singing. I could have sworn that I heard Yolanda mumble a “we will,” under her breath. I arrived at the marketplace, a few people coming to me and giving me words of praise of my singing back in the Oval Compact. I heard the cries of “Proctor! Proctor!” and turned around. It was Yolanda, carrying something in her hand. She was breathing heavily as she came to a stop and held out the rosary in her hands.

“You forgot this, Proctor. I was not sure if I should’ve kept the necklace there where it was or bring it to you.”

It indeed was the rosary I brought with me. I grabbed it and thanked her, examining it for damage. I know it is quite silly to check a rosary for damage but my previous one broke and I still was not able to find the culprit for it. I checked the circle in the middle, with small beads surrounding an even smaller diamond in the middle. It had four heart shaped crests encircle the diamond with gems in the middle. I flipped it over and the back had nothing to note but there was no scratches. I gently placed the rosary into one of my pockets and bowed my head once again in thanks. I went to a coffeehouse to get something to eat. A humble lunch consisting of a flat white and a small breaded pastry. The pastry had a smooth buttery interior that satisfies the taste buds. I may have moaned softly of how good the pastry was, and not to mention fresh from the oven! A quick look outside and I noticed a storm incoming. I quickly grabbed my things, and tipped the server for the flat white, which I took a last quick sip before dashing out the door. Some people took cover while others quickly packed up their merchandise to put back in their lovely households. I sped walked until I reached my own. I swore I saw a figure sitting in the kitchen table but I scratched it off as sunspots reaching my eyes. The soft pitter patter of rain continued as I stripped out of my coat and vest, leaving me only in my dress shirt and pants, which I changed for more comfortable pants. I laid in my room, on top of the bed and sleep was taking over my body. It was only one preaching for the afternoon, and yet I feel exhausted. I saw the same figure in the doorway come closer to me and I could’ve sworn it was Violet.


	2. Corruptors Will

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The branding of the accursed Devil claim mark

I woke to darkness. Black covered my vision and I felt restrained. I writhed and thrashed, my voice not working. My breathing became quick, short and exasperated. My movements continued on their own until I felt a cool metal being inserted in my neck. I heard a voice, groggily in my ears, say to me, “Shh. It will be ok, but you need to be calm in order for this to work.” A wave of deja vu hit me hard as if the breath was knocked straight out of my pipes. The voice was all to familiar, as if I heard it before and yet I could not place it. I was put back into slumber before I could go further in my thoughts.

“I’m not sure if he’s the right one.”

“Oh but he is, _Patrón_! He is!”

“How are you so certain?”

“There’s a mark on him! A mark of purity.”

“Show me.”

I was not awake fully but I could feel myself being shifted at an angle and hear the conversation, although groggy and faint, around me. That second voice did not remind me of anyone. It was deep, raspy, and had a croaky tinge in it, as if the person’s used to another form of communication. I felt my shirt being lifted as a cold breeze hit my lower back and side. ‘Wait, which mark of “purity” do they mean?’ I thought to myself.

“Right here, _Patrón_ , its here.”

“I’ll be damned to the 7th Circle and back, it is the mark of a pure soul. Too bad that he will be the one feeding me.” A low rumble told me of a chuckle or laugh or something.

Adrenaline filled my veins and body as I gulped down, a bit too loudly as my two “companions” looked at me.

“So he wakes... This will be fun.” A purr coming from the croak. The blindfold making me see black was removed, and I saw them. I saw Yolanda there, with a horned mask of a golden yellow and the same symbol I saw on her cheek on the same area on the mask. The other figure made my face pale and I nearly fainted to the comfort of black. The skull on his head, the deep scarlet of his coat, the flared collar. My eyes widened as I breathed, “ _Del Minestro_.”

“Seems like the Preacher knows of my true name uttered in Word, I’m flattered.” A dark chuckle. He looked towards Yolanda and barked an order of leaving us alone. Yolanda obeyed and scurried off into shadow... Did she just disappear into the darkening mists of black? Or was that my head throwing illusions into my eyes?

“Now then, where were we?” The Devil purred into my ear, placing the blindfold back onto my fear-stricken eyes. I let out a breathy groan of fear, and he laughed.

“You are adorable aren’t you, my dear angel,” a hand cupping my cheek. “Oh do not worry, I will make you feel and you will bow to my will.” Those last words made me want to bite him and slap him, forehand and backhand.

“Your pure mark is beautiful, one of a thousand, I say.” A pause to drag a tongue over my neck, in which I shivered in response, “Though, it is a shame that I will have to make sure you do not continue to go around preaching of Omna. A delicate, delicious shame.” A soft bite on the spot. He’s teasing me. He has to be. But there is no way I am not falling underneath the Devil’s trap. He continued to tease and play with my neck, moving to the shell of my ear to press a feathery peck, and then lick the entirety of it.

“You’re magnificent, you realize?” A soft whisper to my half-abused ear. I whimper and writhe in my restraints. I felt his breath on me, on my cheek, ear, and now on my mouth.

“You will obey me, Angelica Monira, and I do not give a damned shit if I have to force you to bend a knee to me.” He roughly grabbed my face to face him, until I registered that he was forcefully kissing me. My face flushed a heavy red on my pale face as I laid there, in shock. I felt a thing, squirming where my heart and soul reside. I let out unnatural sounds and I was squirming and moaning. The Devil just laughed, an unholy laughter, as he managed to put a thing in me. He ripped open my dress shirt, and yanked the locket off my neck. I hear the faint tink! of it next to me, and registered that I was either on a table or the floor. I felt his cold, smooth claws trace something over my chest, but was having difficulty due to my squirming.

“Hold still!” he barked, with me calmingly stopping my writhing. He mumbled of what seems to be a prayer, while scratching his claws into my skin, burning on contact. I screamed in the pain, while I can feel the glee coming off the Devil as he continued his work. The hand stopped their movement as he poured the Blessings Water over the mark, which I gave off a loud screech in agony, arching my back to the pain.

“It seems you enjoyed that thoroughly, Monira.” I panted out, exhausted as ever. His laugh echoed as he walked to someplace, his boots clicking the hard marble floor as they faded into nothing.

“Angelica? Angelica!” I heard the familiar voice before I weakly called out to him.

“H-High Pastor-” I rolled over, seemingly free of my restraints as I fell on the floor. My blindfold was gone as I reached out my hand to the figure, before succumbing to darkness.

—————————————

“That.. I have no words.. It sounded painful,” I commented.

“It sounds as bad, trust me, Storica.. It is as bad.” I bit my lower lip, trying to imagine how this fallen angel dealt with having that mark burned into his skin by the Devil himself. That sounds terrifying.

“That explains the mark, but, how did you achieve the Ascension?”

The figure opposite me told the Ascension, but was in near tears when he did.

—————————————

I woke in an infirmary. Chatter was on my left, as my right side felt numb. I needed to drink something, eat something, needed to distract my head on what happened.

“Oh good, good. But will he be ok, Doctor?”

“I believe he will have to live with.. whatever he faced.”

“I never would’ve thought Del Minestro will make that on him!”

“I have never seen it before and, I’m sorry, I do not know how to remove it.”

I groaned in my reclined state on the infirmary bed. The two people in the room ceased conversation and looked in my direction.

“Proctor Monira! Please, tell me how you feel.” The High Pastor said.

“I feel groggy, and sick. My right side feels limp and numb. My chest feels like its on fire, like a knife heated and left on my chest, flat.” Both men looked at each other before looking at me. I grew worried.

“We believe, that.. well,” the High Pastor took off his top hat. “We believe you may be cursed and, or possessed by the Devil himself. There is one way to cure this, but you will not like it.”

“What is it, High Pastor?”

“Call me John Thomas, Angelica. The ‘cure’ for this curse is well, to sacrifice you to Omna herself.” My eyes widened with shock and fear.

“This is a great honor for the devout, but it does have its price.”

“What is the price, if I may ask?”

The doctor answered, “The high price of your own moral soul.. whatever is left of it.” I wanted to break down in tears, I wanted to throw a fit, but the most I could do was hang my head and grip the blanket that covered me.

“How long do I have left to live?” I asked, my voice cracking.

“We do not know,” said the doctor. “We are trying to find the cause of it. Or well, how to rid of that mark on your chest.” He motioned to my still bare chest. I raised the blanket and cowered under.

“Do not fear. We will try to ease the burning on your chest with some ice compressions. I cannot do anything about your numb and limp right side, though.” On cue, the doctor got ice, wrapped it in a cloth and pressed it on my blanket covered chest. I winced slightly, but soon relaxed under the cooling touch.

“Its only my arm that is limp, Doctor. I can move my legs.”

“That is good, although it is never a good thing that just.. your... arm....” The Doctor paused. He turned my head to the side, looked at my neck, and then his eyes widened and gasped.

“ _Mein Hieling Gott_... There was a needle here!” He quickly touched the spot and I winced.

“That explains why your arm is numb! Someone sedated the spot in your neck for your arm!”

Me and the John Thomas gasped in near unison. “How could that be? It is impossible to reach that spot!”

“Yes, you are correct- wait there’s also bruising!”

“Really?”

“Ja, ja.. hmm, did you have some fun?” The doctor asked, raised a quizzical eyebrow with a smirk at me.

“What?! I’d never! I devoted myself to Violet and I will stay a widow till the end of my days. As I vowed, doctor,” I said, anger lacing my tone and voice.

“Calm, Freund, I was merely joking. But that bite mark is harshly red and purple, as if someone had their way with it. During your experience, did anyone bite you?” I gulped and averted my eyes away from the doctor.

“I see....”

I mumbled under my breath, “The Devil bit me.”

“What was that, Angelica?”

I repeated myself a bit louder, “The Devil bit me.”

Absolute silence, thick enough to be made a meal with a simple wrist flick. Sweat dripped down the back of my neck and body, my face flushing as if I told a dirty secret and was filled with shame for revealing it. The doctor, hesitantly yet gently, pressed a finger onto the bruising bite, examining it. He traced the finger across my neck, crossing the small Adam’s apple, to my collarbone, shoulder and then tracing down my limp arm, squeezing the elbow and wrist. I felt some sensation as my arm twitched in response to the squeeze. The doctor gasped in glee, relieved that my arm was gaining some sensation back.

“If you need me for anything, do not hesitate to scream for me. I will be off to see the other patients patiently waiting for me,” the doctor said, bowing and then softly chuckled to himself for his little pun. Once he left, High Pastor John Thomas looked at me, and I can see the worry in his facial features. His top hat in his hands by the rim, where his aged knuckles turned white. His old amber eyes had crow’s feet and they glistened brightly with hidden youth. His stark black hair was peppered with silver streaks, showing his age. I noticed the faint glimmer of a band around his finger, but most of us knew he was a widow, like me. He wore a High Priest’s outfit: a black coat over a white robe, tied at the waist with a colored sash, depending on the season, and a white silken stole, embroidered with the sign of Omna, over his shoulders. He approached me and sat down at the chair next to the bed.

“I would have never thought that you had been the one who’ll encounter the Devil, Monira. But I am fairly certain that you will come out strong and live with the face that you faced the Devil and lived.” He placed his big, but age-worn, hand on top of my left one.

“I know, but will I have to be sacrificed to remove.. this?” I pointed best to my ability with my chin to my blanket covered chest.

“It is the only way as of now, but the group doing this is the most devout followers of Omna. I have faith in them.”

I can only stare in silence as I slouched further into the comfort of the blankets. I needed sleep, or something that will quench the constant growl of my stomach. I feel terrible, and I must look terrible.

“Monira, may I ask you something?”

“Yes High Pastor?”

He took a hesitant breath before asking, “Have you met anyone with a marking on their face?” I wished I had feigned sleep.

“Recently? No, why you ask?” I lied, straight through my teeth.

“They are members of a vast pagan group called ‘Occulti.’ They are highly dangerous in the unholy things they must do. And to see one here in Menoria, is extremely rare. I suggest that you avoid any of them if you see one.” Too late for that, I suppose. I already met, albeit briefly, with Yolanda, who did have a marking on her cheek, and also had a mask, with that same mark, in that same spot. And her mask was horned.

“I have to get back to the Ministry and explain your condition to the Council. I will be seeing you and I wish you a good night.” Looking out the window, I noticed it was dark. How long did that ‘branding’ take? John Thomas got up, placed his top hat back on his head (and letting his poor paled knuckles to rest), patting my non limp shoulder, and left. I sighed in my bed, staring at the ceiling and slowly drifted to sleep, letting the soft sounds of night lull me into slumber.

My dream self woke to the events of the branding, if one could call it that. I writhed in my restraints but it was weaker, as if I enjoyed this. The dark laughter of the Devil resonated in the room, echoing and bouncing off the walls. I looked around, for once free of the accursed eye shield, and realized I was bound to an altar - the same deep blue marble altar - I saw in one of my dreams. My eyes widened with realization. It was not a nightmare, it was a vision, a warning. And I promptly ignored it. ‘Way to go Monira, you screwed yourself over,’ I thought.

“Well, well! The guest has awoken!” A voice said next to me. Its voice told me it was a young man, around his middle 20’s. He seemed to be levitating off the air while examining his nails, like how girls care about the gentle hygiene of their cuticles. His outfit consisted of a deep purple-grey tailcoat, with a light grey flared collar, two lapels folded back, a simple cravat, and the tails of the coat end at the knee. The cuffs of the coat were fairly thick and had a gold trim, along with the collar and folded lapels. He had trousers that fit him neatly, and then faded to his shin-length grey boots. “I’ll be your caretaker from now on, Angelica,” he purred, resting his head in his hand, looking smugly at me. A closer look at his face and he was a pale white and had short, pointed horns, which was between crisp, blond hair. His eyes sparkled a sapphire blue. “Well, I think you have a fun time looking at me,” a pause to set himself on the floor and use a hand to gesture to himself, “but I assure you, I will be your caretaker until you escape the grasp.” A long, thin tail whipped softly behind him. “Cat got your tongue?” He flicked my nose, and chuckled lightly. What did I get myself into?

“Well Angelica, I will be seeing you eventually, and by that I mean now,” he smirked smugly, and snapped his fingers.

I woke with a start. Bolting upright my bed, I started to cough and wheeze heavily, feeling a heavy weight on my chest, as that squirmy feeling returned.“Easy there, Freund, easy,” the doctor said. He did a compression on my chest and it soften the pain. He sounded familiar.. “Surprised? Its me, your caretaker!” He said with such glee that I’d call him mad. I must’ve looked at him with such disbelief that be changed form. He was that same impish man I saw in my dream.

“You.. You’re my doctor?” I asked, hoarsely.

“Why yes, _Freund_ , I am! Oh and by the way, I was summoned to take care of you and to report your condition and how you are to the Devil himself. Buuut I ain’t doing that, as I can help you.” My eyes widened, and he explained. The thing the Devil placed in me is called a “Squirmie,” which are void snakes that consume the mortal soul. The Devil is like the mother bird, in that sense, and its only transferred through contact by mouth and by another explicit means. My coughing fit returned but it was to avoid the latter bit of what he said. “Oh right, I never told you my name! I’m Zynph Nimper, but I take form of the doctor here, who is Doctor E’nsire. Don’t worry, we are one in the same.” On cue he transformed in the doctor attending me and everyone in this infirmary. “See? Easy transfer between my forms.”

“Is it hard posing as a mortal?”

“Nah. This isn’t the first time I had to deal with people that are similar to you. Speaking of, you did have a ‘mark of purity,’ correct?”

“Yes, and why?”

“I want to check something really quickly, if you’ll allow me.” I nodded and he raised my shirt a bit, checking my sides.

“The mark’s there still, but it’s slowly fading away. Guess the Squirmie in you is eating up good.”

“Speaking of, what do these Squirmies do?” He explained that the purer the soul, the greater the power of the Squirmie. He also told me when he did the compression, it actually weakened the squirming, tentacle feeling in my chest. “That helps with the information but what am I going to do with this?” I ask, pulling my blanket down a bit to reveal the mark on my chest. “Oh that thing. That’s the Devil’s claim mark, named the Diabola. It’s only on certain beings though. Unfortunately, you are only one of a few.” I was in shock, that I nearly broke down. My hand shook, I was forever claimed by the Devil to do his misdeeds and filthy work. “It’s not that bad after you get used to it. It really isn’t that horrible, but you should probably get another dress shirt to mend that,” Zynph said, back to his “devil form,’ pointing to my half ripped shirt. I pouted softly and looked, best to my ability, to see where I can mend it. Violet taught me how to sew and weave before she passed, and I thought this will be a good skill to put into practice. 

“You know, since you more or less feel better, you can leave right?” Zynph said to break the silence. I stared at him in slight disbelief, but he assured me with a smile, looking shit-faced on the chair he was slouched upon, with his legs propped up on the arm. I did not even realize there’s a chair there until I looked at the imp. I swung my legs over the bed, finally stretching them, popping a few bones in my ankles, knees and hips and got up. I did some morning stretches to wake my body up from its reclined position on the bed and started to make the bed again. Zynph stopped me as he snapped his fingers, and the bed was made. He shifted back to the doctor and led me out the door, conversing of an unimportant topic and making sure I ‘get a lot of rest and put ice on my mark.’ I hummed in agreement and he shifted back and followed me out. I questioned if anyone can see him in his impish, devil form and he said that he was bound to me, so mortals cannot see him unless he’s shifted, or I allowed them to see him. I felt a sharp chill up my stiff spine, and felt stalked, a predator watching its prey. I walked quickly in the morning light of the town square, pacing in a circle around one of the trees, tuning my ears to my surroundings. I picked up my pace and I nearly sprinted to my house, opening and slamming my door close, locking it in the process.

“Welcome home, Angelica Monira. You look much better than our encounter the other day,” said a familiar sugar honey tone. My back hit the locked door as I stared at my intruder. I snarled and hissed, “Yolanda.”


	3. An Angel's Blessings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few days couldn't get worse for Angelica, could it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of the events have a couple to few days space between them

My day could not get better could it? First, my doctor is an impish demon, and now Yolanda intruding my home for the second time. I felt that she wants information, so I seethed, my tone harsh, “What do you want? You’ve intruded my house, sedated me, and brought me to the Devil so he can mark me with this accursed thing?” Yolanda was quiet, looking down from where she was seated at the mahogany chair at the kitchen. I started to feel her sad empathy. Most of my furniture is a nice blend of mahogany and cherry wood, with an accent of rosewood here and there. The only piece of furniture that is different than the rest is the headboard for my bed, which is made out of pine. It is a beautiful complimentary mix of dark wood colors. Each piece of furniture had intricate carvings of lilies or violets, and some had rose patterns, running my hands through the carvings and imprints were breathtaking, as I admired each woodworker’s work on the wood. Yolanda seemed to run her hands on the engraved garden on the kitchen table, eyes lost in admiration in each pattern, carving, and flaw. I eyed her with curiosity and made my way over, grabbing the nearby chair and sitting nearby her. I noticed she changed into a more _Colonial-_ styled dress, with ruffles at the cuffs of the dress, down the bodice and flowing to the lower back of the dress. The dress itself was a cream-honey color with a bold satin yellow trim at the hems and down the middle of the dress. She was wearing her horned mask. I could see the mask in full detail – as last time I was sedated – and it was oddly beautiful in a Gothic way. She turned to look at me, letting me observe the mask’s details. It was a golden yellow, covering her eyes, the rim where it meets the nose is pointed slightly down, like a bird’s beak. There was a mark on her right cheek: a question mark shaped with another curved line at the bottom left turning counterclockwise with another question mark-esque symbol facing clockwise. She softly grabbed my palm and brought it to the mark on the mask. I dragged my fingers softly over it and it was oddly satisfying. Yolanda held my gaze and hugged me out of nowhere, sobbing softly into my already ruined dress shirt. She kept muttering apologies as she was under the control of the Devil to do what he did. “I witnessed everything that happened, the branding. I was the one who got the High Priest. If not, you would have been dead for the thing in you.”

“Thank you dearly.” I hugged her back, squeezing her gently. “The High Priest said I should not trust the people who called themselves apart of the ‘Occulti.’ I assume you are one of them, because of the mark on your cheek and mask.” I let go of the hug.

“I am indeed one of them, but that is because my family’s also Occulti, my father, mother, and their sisters and brothers. Consider it a grand brotherhood, similar to what your Ministry is. It’s a brotherhood where we all fall and die together.”

“What is it that you do, exactly? In the Occulti, I mean.” Yolanda averted her gaze before taking a deep breath and told me.

“We are all born into a Patron House, you must’ve heard of the Old Ones?” I shook my head.

“They are deities, as old as Time itself. The one I worship is the King in Yellow, thus the colors I wear are yellow or gold in some way. There are other houses, one for each of the Old Ones and the Followers must wear their colors. A person of the Chaos Bringer’s House would wear black and a sharper mask than what I wear; another person from the All-Knowing House would wear green and a duller yellow, and so on and so forth. As you said, my kind is rare here in Menoria.” Her mask covered most of her face, but it has an elegant dip at the cheeks, before curving into the horns, which were sharp and curvy. She took off her mask, and her bright brown eyes showed so much light, her eyes may as well be a creamy yellow. “I must be going, my family will get curious of why I slipped out,” she said, while walking to the darker corners and simply disappearing. A note was left on the table and it read, in a beautiful cursive:

“The reason I ‘disappear’ is an ability my family has passed down. It is called ‘Shadow walking.’ We use the shadows for traveling between two areas easily and effortlessly. I hope this explains why I was able to reach your household before you walked in.”

At the end, she signed her name. “Yolanda… what?” At closer inspection, it was her surname and not some random alias. “St’r’tch-Encou? That is an odd last name, even more than my ‘weeping’ one.” I chuckled to myself before wheezing lightly. Zynph cleared his throat, coughing slightly to get my attention, in which I turned to meet his gaze. I’d forgotten he was there with me during my talk with Yolanda. He had a bottle of beer in his hand, lightly chugging it. “She was the one who, y’know, did your _Diabola_ branding?” I glared slightly at him, and he raised his hands in defense. “But I’ll admit, she is really beautiful.” I rolled my eyes, getting up to get something to drink in the cooler. I did not drink much, but I have a bottle or two of cider and a beer I did not know how to pronounce, but I knew it was foreign. I grabbed the foreign beer and popped it open, settling on the sofa in the living room. The cushions losing their soft plush to use over time. Zynph was sitting, sprawled, in the loveseat in the corner, where Violet used to sit. Looking at that seat is hard for me to not remember Violet, Zynph noticed me staring at him sadly and piped up, “You look depressed, something the matter?” His tone had a twinge of concern and worry. I shook my head and took another swig of the beer. The world slowly spiraled and it was weirdly beautiful. I got up and walked to the closet where Violet kept her sewing supplies. I took the basket out of the closet and closed it, keeping it open by a breadth, and walked back to the couch, where I took another swig. I took off my dress shirt, my shoulders and elbows popping at stretched relief. I finished part of the beer, hissing at the bitter taste at the bottom of the bottle. I worked getting the white thread into the needle, knotting it, scratching the needle’s tip in my scalp, and proceeded to sew in the tears in my shirt. This light purple dress shirt is my favorite, as Violet made it for me on our anniversary. She found the fabric at the shop in the marketplace. She got perfectly enough to make the shirt, and used my old dress shirts as a template. The shirt itself is beautiful and Violet snuck it on me the night before our anniversary. She was sleeping peacefully and did not wake until my preaching. The shirt felt nice, it was a soft and breathable fabric. It kept me cool and the color was beautifully dyed. Violet said it cost more to get the shirt tailored than making it. I’ve worn it to my Ministry preaching ever since. “Since when did you know how to sew things, Angelica? Isn’t sewing and tailoring a woman’s job?” I looked over to him, my vision blurry, and mumbled, “My wife taught me.” Zynph looked surprised, as he did not expect my own wife to teach me to sew. I remember Violet teaching me to insert the thread into the eye of the need while blindfolded, drunk, and I can even do it in my sleep. I worked until the world spiraled and drilled into darkness.

I groaned. My head was pounding, thundering, threatening to explode. My eyes cleared but I felt dizzy. How long was I out? A quick look outside told me everything. It was dusk, and I wanted to go back to whatever realm I entered when I slept. I got up stretching, my bones softly popping. A cool autumn breeze hit my chest. ‘Oh right, I took my shirt off when I fixed my shirt,’ I thought. “If you’re wondering, you almost poked your own eye out when you passed out,” Zynph said next to me. I shifted the silky orange curtains and it revealed that the day was almost over. I yawned and grabbed an undershirt to throw on my bare chest and covering the mark, just barely. To solve that, I got one of my few ebony vests to throw on top of my undershirt. It is weird wearing a vest over an undershirt but I shrugged it off. It was decent at least. Zynph smirked smugly at me, and wolf whistled. I sharply turned to where Zynph was and gave him the eye. He shrunk in his corner, and looked like a small child who’s being scolded. I sighed softly, and grabbed an overcoat, put on a modest pair of grey boots, placed the dark grey top hat on my head and walked out the door, going to the square. I wished I’d thrown a light dress shirt where I received odd looks from people. I went back to my house to throw one one quickly before walking back out. There was a note in the doorway, which I unfolded. It was from the All Father. The note instructed that I go to the Oval Compact for a special Gathering. Zynph accompanied me, invisible to the mortal eye, as we made to the amphitheater. He told me he had a horrible gut feeling, and that he would stay outside of the Oval Compact, as obviously he was a demon. I wheezed slightly and on cue a chest compression against the wall. I breathed easier, gave a nod of thanks and walked in the Compact.

What I saw surprised me so hard that I fell to my knees. Everyone was praying, loudly and proudly, together as an angelic choir. The Holy Priest sat at the booth, before walking down to greet me. I stood and took a deep bow, until he motioned me to go with him down to the bottom. By instinct I touched my neck and collarbone, feeling for the thin cool chain of my locket. Finding it was there (Zynph told me back at my house that he found it, and put it on me before I passed out from being drunk), I calmed and walked down, the sound of the choir raising higher to the heavens, sounding divine. I would’ve stopped to enjoy the holy-sounding choir, but I could not. As I reached the bottom, the deep blue marble altar in the center of the ground. The Holy Priest smiled genuinely and gestured for me to lay down on the altar. I took a deep breath and started to climb to altar, before the Priest took my arm and told me to take off my coat, vest, shirt, and undershirt. I did as such and it was handed to the attendees there. I had a brief look at them and took in their outfit. It was simple, a cream robe covering all of the body, ending at the ankles, a half shawl with a hood, clasped at the chest with the mark of Omna. Their faces were covered by a mask, the tip’s sharp as a bird’s beak, at it covered their eyes, and the hood casted a shadow that covered their face, it was hard to tell if they were male or female. They discussed among themselves mumbling in a language foreign to me. One of them grazed their silken covered hand over the mark and I hissed. It left a burning sensation on my chest and I coughed heavily, falling down on my hands and knees, losing breath quickly. Apparently, Zynph heard my wheezing from afar and made over to where I was and did a compression in my hunched position. I was regaining breath quickly. I climbed atop the altar, the crowd growing silent. They bound me to the altar, I rolled my eyes slightly, and stuck their hands into the overflow of their sleeves. The Holy Father, looked upon the crowd and said, in an age worn voice, “Welcome my brothers and sisters. Today is a special day, today is the day where the High Saint Anges, the patron for purity, gave hand to the Monira line. She has blessed the line with such purity, it is as a lily blooming upon death. Sadly, Proctor Monira has been cursed or maybe possessed with one of the Devil’s spells .” A pause to let the crowd gasped, and muttered among themselves. I turned my head slightly, and I recognized Zynph by the bottom, crossing his legs, levitating, with a concerned expression, fiddling with his thumbs, anxiously breathing. What is he doing there? Shouldn’t he be away from here, as he is a demon? Or is he a Devil? The Alpha Devil could withstand being here, in the _Holy realm of the Oval Compact,_ it was blessed by the ancient High and Holy Saints to keep this place away from the Devil’s and demons. My hands shook with fleeting feeling of adrenaline. My heart pumped and hammered against my sternum, threatening to escape. My breathing quickened, I tuned out the Holy Priest’s words, becoming white noise, which rung in my ears and I saw everything.

I saw who sinned, I saw who are pure, I saw who is the demon, who is the saint, who was the Devil. I turned to the Holy Priest and my eyes widened. Zynph looked me slightly, lending the eye, saying ‘he’s protecting me. I’m forced to watched as I betrayed his orders.’ He hung his head slightly, took a deep breath and put his hands together, as if he’s holding a sphere. In my enhanced vision, he was mouthing something, I don’t know what and then he looked at me. The Squirmie was inside the invisible sphere and it did not like it there. Zynph mouthed a ‘your welcome’ before slamming the sphere, killing the thing inside it. Apparently, the sphere shattering caused a gasp and a pause from the Holy Priest. Zynph formed from where he was, and tried to go back to hiding in the mortal eyes. Fear struck him, and the Priest acted surprised to see a Devil here. Wait _acted surprised_? My mind raced as I screamed, “RUN!” at Zynph and he did as such, with such speed I’d mistaken him for a blur. He tripped trying to scale the steps as quickly as possible but was grabbed by his tail by one of the attendees. He face-planted, hitting his head onto the steps, bruising his head. The attendee grabbed him by the scruff of his flared collar, and dragged him back down, letting the crowd look at him. The crowd murmured among themselves. The attendee who dragged him threw him on his back to the floor, and he had a nasty gash on his temple where he fell. He bled a blackened gold. “Poor damned soul, he almost had the attempt of saving you, or cursing you further?” the Holy Priest mumbled. My body trembled with fear and worry.

Over the past days, I’ve developed a friendship with the impish Zynph. He helped weaken the Squirmie until it was weak enough to be removed completely out of my body. My mark of purity was slowly returning, but it was faded enough to appear as a birthmark. I saw that Zynph was happy seeing that my mark was returning, and he hugged me tightly, before awkwardly removing himself and drowning in beer. A crack snapped me back to reality, where a crop was used to smack Zynph in his stomach, and chest, where the crop made contact it reopened old wounds. They made him strip of his jacket, cravat, dress shirt and vest, and from where I was laying, his back was littered with scratches, scars, bruises and whip marks. What did they do to him? I noticed on the back of his neck was an ink imprint of the mark of Omna. My eyes widened. He’s a believer? Is that why he was able to waltz in here when he claimed to be my caretaker? Maybe he was different, as he bleeds a rusted golden color. I noted that my bindings were loose on my wrists, and I felt a cool metal on the flat of my wrist. The Holy Priest continued to talk, which I’ve noticed it was all bark and no bite. One of the attendees appeared to lift me off the altar to another spot, but I recognized the faint mark of that familiar Symbol: _Yolanda._ I saw a faint smile in this attendee and she mouthed, ‘It’s me.’ I slightly nodded as she walked into the shadows, taking me with.

The Holy Priest turned around and noticed I was not there. He gasped and said that I must have slipped to the side, or rolled off. Proven wrong. He looked nervous. He looked around for us, and simply dismissed the crowd away for he and the attendees can go look for me. Yolanda had me pressed against her chest, with her arm holding my waist and a hand at my mouth. She softly whispered, low enough for only I can hear, “We are only invisible, and not mute. Any sound you made can and will be heard.” I nodded furiously in approval. The Holy Priest seemed to change form. Wait, that was not correct. My eyes widened enough that they’d pop out. _It was the Devil himself who appeared._ Then that means… _no._ The Devil walked over to where Zynph laid, beaten and covered in new whip lashes. Tears pricked my eyes as he forcefully slapped Zynph, picking him up by the back of the neck, and slamming him down at the edge of the altar. Yolanda squeezed my waist to calm me a little. “You’ll let us get caught.” The attendees looked at each other and held out their arms, extending only three fingers and mumbled a quick prayer under their unison breaths, which I recognized as the prayer to ward off evil:

“ _di Crux Sancti patri,_

_Crux Sacra si’ Mihi Lu’_

_Sunt mala quae Libas_

_Ipse venena BIBAS!”_

The last word was said with such force that it knocked me back into Yolanda, who hissed slightly. ‘I nearly forgot she wasn’t a believer,’ I thought. The Devil let off a horrid screech and disappeared back to his realm. Yolanda patted me on the back and told me to step out, as she appeared next to Zynph, who was badly wounded. I walked towards the group and the pulled back their hoods, but did not remove their masks. One of them spoke to me, I recognized the foreignism in his voice, accent fairly thick, “I think we need an explanation for what just happened.” The others nodded. I felt faint and weak. I softly touched Zynph’s cheek, who laid unconscious. “The poor thing. He took care of me and destroyed _that_ ,” I said, pausing to point where the dead Squirmie lay. It looked like a slim tentacle, with the bulbous head of a snake. I noted it had no eyes. Yolanda made her way over to it, poked it with her foot, and promptly said, “This is what caused your harsh coughing fits?” I nodded meekly. They all agreed that it was a good thing that the accursed snake was dead. The foreign man asked me who killed it, and I shyly pointed at Zynph, who grunted softly. This was going to take a long while.

After cleaning up and explaining best to my ability, the attendees are recognized as the High Order of Omna. Each of them asked how I got the mark, where, and why. I can only answer two of those questions. I unconsciously touched it, softly hissing. The man who spoke up went to me and pressed two fingers, mumbling a quick prayer, the pain soothing to a soft cool sensation. I was able to breathe even easier – even with the Squirmie out of my chest – and took a deep breath. I sat down at the edge of the altar, and glanced back at Zynph, who looked pale despite the wounds on him. “Do not tell me you’ve grown affection to _that Devil_?” the man said. I gave a sidelong glance and then averted my eyes quickly. Throughout the time the Squirmie was in me, he gave me compressions to ease the pain of the snake. And then today, he took it out, and slammed it onto the floor. The sphere shattering sounded like breaking glass. And then after that, Zynph got a beating and got abused. The map of old and new scars, the garden of new lashes, gave off an odd beauty. His face was marred with the claw marks of the Alpha Devil’s own hand. “I noticed that there’s an ink imprint on the back of his neck.” I turned his head to the side a bit, pointing to the imprint. The High Order gasped softly among themselves. “It could explain why his blood, is well, the color it is.”

“The color explains more than what you currently think.” I turned to face the man, but Yolanda nudged my shoulder. She had a look in her eyes, as if she’s worried about me. She visited as much as she could to see how I was during the time I was off from my preaching. She asked me to sing to her, as such I did. The walls of my house were thinly thick, all sound muffled but its still faintly heard. Yolanda liked my singing. I was insecure of my voice, but after singing to Yolanda, I gained a confidence that I lost. There was another feeling there, a comfortable warmth whenever Yolanda’s there with me. I find myself remembering what Zynph said about her, _“But I’ll admit, she is really beautiful.”_ I was widowed. A widow cannot look at anyone else. I confessed the warmth I had to Yolanda, and what she did surprised me. She held my face in her hands, caressing my cheeks with her thumbs, and brought us together. I returned the move with a passion that was tucked away for a long time. My locket hanging heavy on my neck, which anchored me back from going too far up cloud nine. I pulled away and averted, Yolanda simply apologized, and repeated what she did. She got up, and bid me farewell before walking back in the deep shadows of my abode. I laid in my bed looking distant and flushed. I drowned myself in the shame I felt afterwards. That night, I felt ashamed with myself, and yet I could not bring myself to feel shame. One look at my band told me the answer: I was torn. The warmth blossomed too fast. I must have been blushing as a cold sensation brought me back from my escapade of my thoughtful wonderland. “I will ask again, have you come to learning affection with this Devil?” One look at the body behind me, and I hugged him, and wept onto the beaten skin.

I woke up seeing Zynph fine and well, with bandages and patches over his wounds. He told me that when he woke, he did not expect me to be hugging and crying onto his wounds. He mentioned that my tears felt soothing, as if an angel was touching his wounds. I looked at him quizzically, he told me his backstory. He once was an angel, one of the mightiest, and yet he fell. He was cheated to falling down from the Holy Realm. “I acquainted myself with the Alpha Devil. He was skeptical at first, but later he used me as a footstool. Quite literally.” I rested my head on his now clothed chest and listened to the soft _tump-tump-tump_ of his heart. It was slowly lulling me to sleep, but Zynph, shook me for I wouldn’t sleep again. I sat up as he grabbed a small blade, the same one that was pressed flat on my wrist, and made a small cut on his wrist. The blood that came out was the same blackened gold. “It’s a tainted ichor. You do know what ichor is right?” I nodded and said, “It is the blood of God.” Zynph corrected me to a plural. I stared at him, curious yet stupefied. I said there’s no such things as multiple gods, there was only one: Omna. Zynph said that I have much to learn and I will in due time. One look around me, and we are in the same infirmary I was in when the High Pastor found me near death on the altar. I barely got a look on it as Zynph kept me in a sleepy, dazed state. The walls were a chipping white, but it looks yellow or blue when the sun shines on it. There was a window, giving a view of the outside, to the left of the bed, which was small, only available for one person. A small table against the wall with the window, with two chairs next to it. I assume for visitors to be with the patient. The door was behind me, to the right of the patient on the bed. The rooms are all the same, upper and lower floors Zynph noted. The bottom floor, he said, consists of maidens who work as nurses. They gossip mostly but that is what people do, right? I told Zynph that I saw a group of nurses in one of my dreams. He kept silent and mumbled, “I gave you that dream. The altar, the maidens, and then the Devil came to you out of his will to haunt you. I tried to prevent it by having you in your past era with your wife. It seemed to spur it on, much to my dismay.” I hugged myself, feeling the cloth of my shirt, and wondered how my clothes got back on me magically. Zynph said the High Order brought us here, and took care of us. He pointed to the table, where a package was wrapped in silk. “Yolanda brought that and told me to tell you. She said it was a gift.” I went over to the table and sat down on the pine chair. I carefully opened the silk package, which was a small box. I opened the box and inside it was a small amulet. It was a golden amber amulet, a circle of the gem. A grey metal framing the circle of amber, and the same mark that was on Yolanda’s mask and face was there, in the middle. I flipped it over and there was another symbol. A distorted, five pointed star with a flaming eye in the same spot of the symbol opposite. I looked back into the box and there was a note attached:

“The symbol you see on my mask, it’s called the ‘Yellow Sign,’ it is the mark of my Patron. The symbol on the opposite side is known as the ‘Elder Sign.’ It protects its wearer of the Old Ones. Their power is mighty. I wish you enjoy this small gift, Angelica.”

It signed the same way, but instead of her full name, she made a quick note at the bottom for this Yellow Sign. I placed the amulet on and it hung to my collarbones. It will be hard to hide this one. The note also mentioned to wear this and never take it off, as it grants me as being friendly with Yolanda’s family house. She briefly explained to me once that someone from a House gives a gift to someone in another house and if they accept the gift, then they are welcome into their house. The amulet felt warm on my skin. Zynph looked at me and smiled, wide enough for I can see the two pairs of fangs. I smiled warmly right back, and hugged Zynph, feeling a deep happiness blossoming forth. This fallen angelic Devil helped me get rid of that Squirmie, he took abuse in place of me (he told me that in the mortal eyes it would be a cleansing ritual, but really it was a way to mar my body in preparation for the “Devil’s hand,” as it was called) and he took care of me a way friends would if they were close. I’d be damned if this angel was stripped from my life. I pulled away, as he shifted into his mortal form. “The doctor I took prose was Doctor E’nsire, if you want to refer to me as such. Just mention the doc got some minor injuries,” he gestured to the minor wounds on his face and visible skin. “It won’t be long until I get back onto my two feet!” I nodded and tried to take in the details of the form. It was a young man, near his thirties or such, with Zynph’s original blond hair dirtied with a black, making the blond bits look like streaks. The clothing choice conflicted with a double breasted white coat, buttoned up and reach the shins, with a grey vest and white dress shirt underneath, dark grey trousers which were folded inwards at the hem, with black boots. Why didn’t he tuck the trousers in to the boots, I will probably never know. I bowed my head in goodbye and walked out, closing the door behind me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapters are added when I write/finish a part two ahead of the current uploaded.


	4. Spilt Blood

After I left the infirmary, a few people looked at me and acknowledged my better being. I must feel like a mess considering what happened at the Oval Compact. The High Pastor and Holy Priest found me first from the crowd and made their way to me. They both wearing grey robes, with a simple black frock-like coat. Only the High Pastor wore a top hat. “I heard what happened in the Compact, and I am still mystified. The High Order were about to sacrifice you to the Devil?” The question came as a shock, as the forming crowd was one thing, but having two higher Ministry members confronting you about what happened a couple days ago is another thing entirely. I explained to them that the Devil disguised, and disguised well to _fool_ , as the Holy Priest (who I learned was All Father Pierce) and by an intervention the High Order sent him back, omitting the details of Zynph and him being beat in my place. He took a noble sacrifice to help me. Their looks drooped, and I looked at them, confused and tilting my head to the side slightly. I followed their eyes to the amulet I wore, the Yellow Sign facing up. “I cannot believe you are one of them, Proctor Monira. I believe we have to take you out the Ministry.” The world stopped. The enhanced visionary returned, and I noticed Yolanda in the crowd, bringing a finger to her lips, and tapping the spot where my amulet was. She nodded and brought her thumbs together, their pads facing opposite and folded her middle and ring finger on her left hand, and her smaller and index on her right. She looked at me, through her ‘mask,’ and bowed her head. “They see you opposite to their beliefs. Omna is your Patron no? I assure you she sees all of us as equals. The people only speak for themselves and only for them.” Her hands shifted so they were in front of her face. Her thumbs were still touching their pads but they were shifted diagonally. Her right hand crossed fingers, middle over index, ring over smaller, and her left hand had her fingers touching each other, bar the middle. “The Ministry is nothing but hypocrites of the Witch Era, turning their backs to those who oppose them. I assure you, they see us Occulti as nothing as pagan filth worshiping idols of old. I assure and reassure, we are far from.” She brought her hands together in a final motion, her thumbs lacing together, and her fingers spread as a bird in midflight. “We Occulti know the things you preached, We know who you are at heart. I know you are the one who will be bringing the fire as you bend knee to the Devil and his lords. The imp is your only grounding method. He is yours and you are his.” She smiled as she flexed and relaxed her fingers, mimicking a bird in flight. “The King in Yellow will not harm you, as long as you keep the Elder Sign to your chest. You are welcome to come with me.” Her hands relaxed to her sides, and extended one to me, which I took. And like that, the world came to black and the crowd gasped.

I woke to gloominess, as Yolanda looked out the window. I sat up groggily, and without falter, “You’re awake. It takes a while to get accustomed to Shadow Walking.” I looked around the room. The room was a bedroom, with a gloomy interior, as light barely shown here, a dark wood dresser and desk hugged one corner, the night table in the same wood sat next to the bed. Yolanda had the desk’s chair as she sat near the window, gazing. A portrait hung on the wall in front of the bed. It was an odd portrait, but it had an air of haunting yet debonair. I propped myself on my elbows to get a better look, and the door stood on the left side of the bed. The thin curtains on the window are a golden yellow, which the extremities fade to a black. The sheets are a deep, dark, cool grey and I noticed the faint outline of the Yellow Sign embroidered on it. It also felt soft, cuddly almost. “That blanket was made by my grandmother when she was alive, she lived for nearly 500 years. Such a shame the blood was spilt at the wrong time.”

“Nearly 500? How old are you to be exact?”

Yolanda glanced back, turning her head slightly, “I am 183. Why do you ask, Angelica?”

“How do you look so young yet be so old?”

“Can I let you in on something that is a secret of the Occulti?”

“Yes, you can. I swear that my mouth is mum.” I raised my left hand up, and placed my right hand over my beating heart, crossing it with my middle finger.

Yolanda turned fully to face me. “We Occulti are half alive, and half dead. We prepare our bodies once we reach a certain age, around your midyears, teens. We make an incision, precisely from the collar bones, joining together at the chest, and then going down to our bellies.” She made the motion as she explained. “We rearrange a few things, and organs in the body. Some of those are offered to our Patrons. After the bodily flesh is offered, it is placed back and we live continuously until we are killed, or we die by natural causes. If you are curious, we cannot get sick.” If I’m being honest with myself, I was surprised and shocked. It did make sense. What the Ministry drilled into me was the Occulti are dangerous, that they will feast on your flesh if you go near. It was drilled to me to hate these pagan groups. I got up, and looked outside, and I noticed the sky was grey and depressing. A faint thunder rumbled from the throat of the sky. A flash of lightening cracked across the gloom fluff that is the clouds, which were packed together. “This island is called ‘Occulti Island.’ Mostly referring to that this island is hidden from mortals, and this island is on too few maps, for good reason too.” A knock on the door startled me, which I flinched much to my embarrassment, as Yolanda called for the person to walk in. It was maid who walked in and curtsied deeply, “Lady Encou, you wish for a drink?” The maid was young, younger than me by a few years, and she wore a cracked mask. Her mask was like a fox’s, the nose long yet partially thin, the tip black. The eye slits were closed and curved in such a way as if the mask is in a frozen laugh. Intricate curves and markings was around the eyes, forehead, snout, and the ears of the mask. I noticed the markings were white or a light green. The maid’s dress was poufy, but the bodice hug snug onto her slim physique. Intricate tulle and lace was on the bodice and on the short sleeves of the outfit. Abstract patterns on the lace was on the bodice, which accentuated the bust (I averted my gaze to the floor when my eyes laid on them) and waist nicely. Ruffles flowed from the hems of the sleeves, bodice and skirt, which the skirt ended at the knee. The colors were a blend of white, green, and gold. ‘I wonder which house the maiden’s in,’ I thought. One glance at me, the maiden scurried over as quickly a mouse, and hastily whispered to Yolanda in a different tongue, which I only recognized a few words.

“Lady Encou! You brought a Lord here?!”

“He is no Lord. I brought him here to escape a crowd asking about what happened to his companion.”  
  
“Your father will be pissed! He’s a danger. And you cannot bring random people here anymore! Your father forbade it!”

Yolanda had her back to me when she was talking with her maiden, but I noticed her shoulders shifted to straighten her posture. “He’s a friendly. He accepted the gift I gave him.” Cue the maiden looking beside her to peer at me. Her mask’s eyes followed to the amber circle on my collarbones. Her mouth formed an “oh” and apologized furiously, but all it did what let Yolanda laugh. It was a stark laughter; her shoulders shook with each new soft roar of laughter. I found it adorable and beautiful. I found myself chuckling quietly, enjoying Yolanda’s laughter. She stopped and I followed right after. She turned and smiled warmly. I gazed around the room, avoiding Yolanda’s line of sight. I got up and went to the chair near the window, while Yolanda and her maiden went to the opposite side of the bed while they chatter. After a moment, I asked, “Is there a mirror?” Yolanda pointed to the door, in front of the foot of the bed (I did not notice this at first) and she paused her conversation to tell me that this is the bathroom. I asked if there was a guy’s room, as I respect a woman’s privacy. The other room was her father’s – which she did not recommend – and I use her bathroom instead. I shrugged and sighed in defeat, and walked in. It was simple yet elaborate. The tile was in an off grey, a soothing blend of warm and cool grey. A strip of a darkened, rusted gold separated the tiles and the wall. I turned to my left and I see a countertop with neatly folded towels. There was a full body mirror to my right, which I looked at myself and dear Omna I look _awful_. My loose hair was splaying in every direction, messy with frizz, shagging at the edges, and by the dim light it looked glossy and oily. My dress shirt was disheveled and wrinkles pronounced in every joint creased. My trousers look decent for a dark color, I felt it was the same as my shirt. I leaned forward and noticed I was starting to get a scruff of a 5 o’clock, my skin looks pale, and bags were forming under my eyes. My hazel eyes dimming to a greyer shade of its vibrant colors of gold, green and brown. I sighed and walked over to the sink, a deep bowl with a tap faucet, and I briskly splashed water on my face. With my hands still wet, I brushed the stray locks sticking to my forehead back, creating a messy swept-back look in front, while I combed the rest of my shoulder-length hair down from the frays it created. I noticed there was nothing of a straight razor here, I peeked out the door to see the maiden holding a silver platter with men’s grooming needs. I thanked her and took the platter. It had a straight razor, which was a sharp blade with an oaken “safe” handle. A small stone was next to the blade on the platter, with a cream. I applied the cream on the lower half of my face and softly scraped the blade over the cream area. I had to rinse and sharpen the blade after every few scrapes but I managed to get a decent shave with the razor. I splashed my face and rinsed it with the hand towel. I cleaned the razor and closed it. My face felt clean and refreshed and I could go for a nice shower. Another soft knock on the bathroom door, where the maiden appeared again. “If you’re wondering where the Lady went, she went to get some fresh clothes for you,” she said, curtseying and stuttering slightly. “I’m the right hand maiden of Lady Encou, but she seems to take you as a friend, as you wear an amulet to this house.” On cue, Yolanda entered her bedroom, and handed her maiden the clothes, which was placed on the counter. I stripped of my current clothes, to be washed when I got home, and stepped in the bathing tub and adjusted the taps to spread water and soap over my sleep-worn body. I noticed the slight sting of the _Diabola_ on my chest against the heat of the water. Breathing was now not much of a chore, as I had to have Zynph do those compressions on my chest to ease the pain of the Squirmie. I relaxed in the tub, succumbing to the warmth of the water.

I stared to the ceiling, wondering if anyone cared if I left the Ministry, all because of accepting Yolanda’s amulet as a gift. I looked down to see my locket dipping slightly in the water, the bottom edge barely touching. I took it off and placed it at the rim of the tub, careful for it won’t fall to the floor. I let my thoughts wander. One look at my hand told me my answer beforehand: I could not choose between myself being a widow, or having someone again. I was devastated after I lost Violet, I wept for weeks. A jeer I took too personally was my surname meant “to weep or weeping.” A few of the townspeople joked that I was an “angel from up above to weep and mourn for the dead.” I gave them a sock or two in the stomach, and from then on, nobody’s poked my surname’s meaning and joked about it. At least, not when I’m present in the room. How I long for my normality of a life! How I miss the afternoon snack of a pastry melting into my mouth, warm from being baked and taken straight from the oven, its peaceful aroma filling the small bakery. How I miss the flat whites of that coffeehouse, its area relaxing for me after my preaching. How I miss my normal life. I missed it all. A streak of water fell down my face. I was crying. I hugged my knees closer to my chest, rested my forehead on my knees, and curled myself up into a ball. A protective ball, a habit of mine whenever I wanted to cry, and just wept in my knees.

Either I was crying hard enough that I slept, or the furious knocks on the bathroom door awoke me, I have no idea. But it was Yolanda’s soft yet forceful voice that brought me back to reality. “Angelica, you are going to get sick if you do not get out and dry.” I called back, and getting out of the tub, and draining the now cold water. I snatched my locket before it fell in and placed it on the sink’s counter. I looked at the clothes before me. I placed each article on, one at a time, before I turned to look in the mirror. The outfit was a dark grey dress shirt, a black vest, a four-tailed tailcoat with shawl lapels and with a small pin of the Yellow Sign on the left lapel. The tailcoat was a shade of a deep crimson gold, beautiful against the lighting of the bathroom and I noticed it had intricate embroidery at the lapels. The cuffs of the coat fit closely on my wrists, a tight yet flexible fit, and its collar was flared but not too exaggerative, with a red trim. I noticed there was a pair of silk grey gloves, and they did fit comfortably on my hands. The material is cool yet warm. The pair of black trousers which hugged my legs snugly. I stepped out of the bathroom and noticed a pair of dress boots, in a dark leather. I slipped them on along with a pair of cotton socks and I’d be damned. They fit perfectly. I wondered how they got my size until someone breathed, “Debonairly suave and beautiful.” I turned and it was Yolanda in her cream-yellow dress. I smiled warmly. She walked out and I followed, before noticing my old clothes were neatly folded on the bed. We walked and I noticed the labyrinth of rooms, hallways, and corridors. After turning the corner, we arrived in a foyer of sorts. The room was grand, with a chandelier hanging on the ceiling, lit with flame that softly lick the air. It curled inwards, as if holding a sphere with clawed hands. A bead of cold sweat ran down my neck, as I remembered what happened at the Oval Compact. I shivered slightly. The foyer had a semicircle of elegantly plush couches and chairs surrounding a fireplace, with adornments and knick knacks above it. Yolanda made her way to one of the couches, and called me over. I walked to the couch, gulping down the small lump in my throat. I rubbed the padded tips of my fingers on my palms to calm myself, the cool silk provided a small comfort. I sat down, crossing my legs, with my ankle on my left knee and folded my hands, dazing into the fire in the fireplace, which provided a comfort glow in the otherwise gloomy household. The footsteps approaching was padded steps, a small glance to the floor told me it was carpet. I averted my gaze away from the fire to the rack in the corner, full of aged drinks, and the clear cupboard atop the rack, ordered neatly with Cabernet, Zinfandel, and Viognier glasses. They were hung upside down. The steps got nearer, and a gruff voice cleared its throat. I looked at the source and a tall man of around 50 stood there. He wore a nickel-colored flared notch lapel vest, with an Elder Sign pin on the right lapel, with odd embroidery on each lapel, but I noticed different protection signs in the embroidery. He wore an ebony dress shirt with a glove on one of his hands, the index finger and middle finger showing through. A pair of dark cadet grey trouser slacks. The shoes he wore were pointed at the tip, similarly to dress shoes. But the pointed tips were harsher than dress shoes. I uncrossed my legs to sit more comfortably, and the man spoke, “I’ve heard much about thou, Angelica.” The voice was gruff, croaky and low, almost sounding dead. He walked over to sit in the deep velvet armchair opposite to where Yolanda and I sat. A circular table was the only barrier separating us. There was a few papers on the table, with a file. “I notice you are with my daughter, is that right?” the man spoke, in which I raised an eyebrow. “I forgot to announce myself. I am the Lord of the house. Lord Intri’ch St’r’tch-Encou,” he said, huskily, as he stood and bowed deeply. His hair was braided back with only a few locks twirling down his forehead. Yolanda nudged me and I repeated the motion, bowing deeply. I nearly went down a knee bowing, due to how tall the Lord was. We both straightened ourselves. I had to crane my neck to look up at him, he had to be head taller than me. I felt intimidated by Yolanda’s father, the Lord of the house.

I told the story from the beginning and he nodded, laughed at some bits much to my dismay, and he felt sympathy for my loss. Throughout that time, Yolanda’s maiden served us wine, which I drank in small amounts. The world spiraled and I felt dizzy, which I clung onto Yolanda’s arm, who patted my hand softly. The Lord looked at me and then laughed, fruity. It was a rich laugh, and once he calmed, he was breathily speaking, “I will not expect that! The angel not take a drink lightly!” I felt ashamed, but Yolanda looked at me, and chuckled lightly. I mumbled, “I do not drink often, only when I want to wallow in my depression or when I want to work on something.” I panted softly. I leaned to where Yolanda was, which she caught me and patted my head delicately.

“He cannot take the strength of your wine, Father. He prefers to be sober and clear-minded,” Yolanda said, harshly.

Her father gasped lightly in response, and chuckled hoarsely. He waved the maidens off, which they obeyed. I brought myself to hug her bosom and hid my face in her chest. She scratched the bottom of my head, where my neck was and pinched. I yelped and nearly lost my balance on the couch, to which the one opposite us gave another roar of fruity laughter. I asked if I can be excused back for I can sober up. Yolanda pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed deeply. I assume this was her father’s behavior. I asked if this was normal, and Yolanda said it was normal but only if her father had enough to drink. In case of us, a half bottle of a strong wine was enough to throw a man into a loop and knot. I blinked a few times and the world ceased its spiral. Yolanda looked at me, her eyes glistening with happiness. She brought her hand to my cheek and caressed it. Her thumb brushed over the bags forming under my eyes. Her father stopped his laughter, with his shoulders shaking a little. He looked over to us and caught my eyes. I glanced to the side and found his piercing gaze. I was not sure if it was the fire light or the room’s gloom, but his eyes seemed to glow yellow. I gulped and shifted my gaze back to Yolanda in which I found comfort in those bright orbs of hers. I leaned in and kissed her. Glaring daggers was aimed at the side of my head but I paid no mind to it. The kiss was short but I felt relieved, comforted. I sat back right and looked down at my thighs, feeling some sort of shame. I braced for a yelling but her father said calmly, “I know you will treat my dear Yolanda nicely. I trust you with her.” Yolanda looks adorable in a smile, which was genuine enough to make my heart melt. I smiled warmly, as her father nodded, and smiled awkwardly. I faced Yolanda and kissed her again, but with a passion I had deeply locked away. She tried to kiss back with the same passion, and was no match for my locked one. We pulled back and panted. I breathed with restraint as I had to announce I had to return back home. The Lord offered me a bedroom here, which I considered and said to reserve it for whenever I arrive. He also mentioned the amulet granted me to Shadow Walk, in which Yolanda taught me briefly how to do it. She also had to run some errands back in Menoria, and we both left the foyer.

I arrived in my own abode, grateful for my small humble home. Yolanda brought my old clothes for they can be washed, and I said she can do that. I went to my room and flopped on my bed. I would’ve met with the bed’s covers if I _looked_ before I flopped. A familiar figure was laying there, and I felt a cold liquid. I took a step back and my eyes adjusted to the scene. A knife was lodged in just below the ribs, blackened ichor leaking out. Based on the liquid, it was recent. I called out to Yolanda, who only appeared behind me, a honeyed look in her eyes. She spoke lowly, in a language native to her. My hands shook as I turned the body on my bed over, the sapphire losing their brightness. They quickly dart over to me and weakly pled for help. A hand clung for dear life onto my coat. The once blond hair was mangled and frizzed, skewing in all directions. I felt the sharpened nails on the hand clinging onto me, dig through the cloth and into my skin. One of the short, sharp horns of the victim on the bed was broken. It was chipped, and looked like it was broken of by force. I noticed bruising on the exposed neck, shoulders and chest. The hand was losing its grip, and I was pulled back fully by the person behind me.

Realization hit me too late. I crumpled to my knees, feeling blood ooze out of my mouth and the wound. I felt some drip down my face. I raised a shaking hand to my cheek, bringing the stained hand in front of me. My eyes widened.

It was _ichor._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for some inactivity. summer's been something of a hassle and i put off the CDC a bit to restore my writing energy.


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